


an invincible summer

by sfxlled



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Pre-Canon, little to no actual sylvix. sorry, oh you know just sylvain things TM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 10:42:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21014468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfxlled/pseuds/sfxlled
Summary: Sylvain has never really liked Glenn. For the life of him, Felix can’t figure out why.written for sylvix week 2019. day 1: childhood





	an invincible summer

“Are we there yet?”  
  
Riding a few paces in front of Felix and Glenn’s shared horse, Rodrigue heaves a deep sigh.  
  
“No, Felix,” he says calmly, with all the patience of a father who has been raising a child for fourteen years, and two of them for ten of those years. “We’re not.”  
  
“Oh,” Felix says, and frowns. Sitting behind him with his torso pressed to Felix’s back and an arm wrapped securely around Felix’s front, Glenn snorts. Felix can feel the vibrations of his chest from his laughter.  
  
“Don’t worry, Fee-Fee,” Glenn says, and Felix’s lips only turn down further at the nickname he’d once enjoyed, and then slowly grew to hate over the ten years of his childhood. “We’ll get to see your _ boyfriend _ soon. Just wait.”  
  
“Huh!?” Felix sputters, ears burning, and he twists around the best he can in his saddle. Glenn lets out a light _ oof _ when Felix slams his small fists into his breastplate. “Shut up, Glenn!”  
  
“Boys,” says Rodrigue, “don’t get too rowdy. You’ll startle Estelle.”  
  
Estelle, for her part, continues trotting along the dirt path leisurely. She’s a good horse and far too used to Glenn and Felix’s antics by now.  
  
“Aww, is little Fee-Fee in denial?” Glenn teases, completely ignoring Rodrigue and lightly pulling at Felix’s cheek, as Felix tries to bat his hand away to no avail. “Or maybe you’ve got your eyes set on someone else? His Highness, perhaps?”  
  
“Agh! Glenn!” Felix slams his fists down again, harder.  
  
“Boys,” Rodrigue repeats, but his voice is drowned out by Felix’s shriek when Glenn forces him into a headlock, and gives him a good noogie.  
  
“You little playboy, only ten years old and already leading all the boys on--“  
  
_ “Glenn, stoppit!” _ Felix squawks, flailing his arms. Beneath them, Estelle remains ever calm. “Whatever! You’re just _ mad _ ‘cause we’re not going to _ Galatea--“ _ _  
_  
“Hey!” Glenn retorts, and presses his knuckles in harder. “Who says you’re allowed to talk? Huh? Shut it, brat!”  
  
_ “Glennnnn!” _ Felix wails, struggling in the saddle as Glenn’s grip on him tightens. “Le’ggo!”  
  
“Stop squirming,” Glenn reprimands. “There’s barely enough room on here already with your fat butt taking up all the space--“  
  
“I’m not fat!” Felix protests. “You’re fat!”  
  
“I work out,” Glenn informs Felix primly. “All you do is wave a wooden sword around and sleep, you fattie.”  
  
“Well all _ you _ do is eat, so it cancels out--!”  
  
“We’re here,” Rodrigue announces, and Felix almost falls off Estelle when Glenn abruptly releases him from his evil, terrible grasp. Almost. He manages to catch himself in time, and regain his balance.  
  
...And also Glenn grabs him and pulls him back up before he can actually fall, but it’s Glenn’s fault in the first place so it doesn’t count, okay.  
  
“Say thank you,” Glenn whispers, hushed, into Felix’s ear anyway, because apparently his purpose in life is to bully Felix at all hours, or something. Glenn is evil.  
  
“No!” Felix hisses back, and slaps Glenn on the arm.  
  
“So rude. Learn some manners, Fee-Fee,” Glenn responds, but neither of them continue this enlightening and fruitful conversation as the guards approach them. Rodrigue dismounts with grace, Glenn less so, and Felix with none at all as Glenn lifts him up and off. Felix barely manages to stop himself from kicking Glenn right in the chest; bickering in front of their own platoon of handpicked knights is all and good, but now with the Gautier servants in front of them and the Margrave himself standing on the doorstep, Felix knows well enough to at least feign meekness.  
  
_ So he arrives; His Grace, the Duke of Fraldarius. _ Felix tunes out most of it, having heard all of this ostentatious nonsense far too many times before.  
  
“Gautier,” Rodrigue nods. The Margrave nods back stiffly.  
  
“Fraldarius,” he greets.  
  
Felix subtly glances around, eyes darting to and fro. It’s strange. Usually, Sylvain would be out here, standing at his father’s side. Even if only at his father’s behest (though Felix privately likes to think that Sylvain comes out for _ him), _ Sylvain would be at the porch, posture ramrod straight and head held up high, as expected from the heir to the noble House Gautier.  
  
Today, however, Sylvain is conspicuously absent. Felix resists the urge to pout petulantly. He’s already ten. He shouldn’t be feeling so-- so childishly _ hurt. _ _  
_  
Beside him, Glenn discreetly takes one of Felix’s hand in his own, and rubs a comforting circle into his palm. Felix has half a mind to yank his arm away, because ugh, Glenn doesn’t have to baby him anymore! ...But it does feel pretty nice, so.  
  
Whatever. Felix will allow it. Just this once.  
  
Rodrigue and the Margrave exchange further, formal pleasantries, while Felix restrains himself from tapping his foot impatiently. Finally, after what seems like an eternity and a half, the Margrave invites them in, and Felix is only prevented from excitedly bounding into the warmth (why does Sylvain’s territory have to be so cold, it’s so annoying! People may call Fraldarius lands wintry at best, but Felix will swear up and down that Gautier lands are the worst of the worst.) of the manor by Glenn’s hand.  
  
“Come on, Fee-Fee, just a little longer before you can see your little lover.”  
  
“Shut up, Glenn!”  
  
Their hissed conversation doesn’t quite go unnoticed, judging by the looks Rodrigue and the Margrave shoot them — Rodrigue just looks fondly exasperated, while Margrave Gautier looks almost amused, an expression that always shocks Felix whenever he sees it — but they don’t say anything, so Felix counts it as a win, still.  
  
They enter the manor, and Felix has to bear a few more pleasantries, before Rodrigue finally takes a look at him, and sighs.  
  
“My apologies, but if you could excuse my son--“  
  
“Hmph, the worry is undue,” Margrave Gautier waves it off. “His presence isn’t necessary for this talk.”  
  
“I thank you for your generosity,” Rodrigue bows just slightly. Then he turns back to Felix. “Felix, you’re dismissed. Glenn, stay.”  
  
“Yeah, I already knew, dad,” Glenn mumbles, a thread of irritation woven into his voice, as Felix scrambles to perform his due farewells and formal faffery. There’s a pause. Then Glenn quickly corrects himself, _ “Father.” _ _  
_  
The last thing Felix hears before he escapes the stuffy room is yet another one of Rodrigue’s deep sighs.

  
  
  
Sylvain isn’t in the dining hall. Or the gardens. Or any of the sitting rooms. Or even his own room, for that matter. And when Felix asks the servants where “young Lord Gautier” has gone, they simply shake their heads with a remorseful frown.  
  
Felix is ready to give it up as a lost cause after he’s wandered most of the manor, and there’s still no sight of Sylvain. He’s even caught a glimpse of _ Miklan, _ a sight that only gets rarer by the day, but still no Sylvain.  
  
He’s already wasted fifteen minutes on this. _ Fifteen minutes. _ That’s _ fifteen minutes _ of his life that Felix is never getting back. There’s so much Felix could have done in those fifteen minutes. Like...train. Or...  
  
Train.  
  
Fine. Whatever. If Sylvain wants to be a _ loser _ who doesn’t want to hang out with _ crybaby Fee-Fee _ anymore, then good for him! Felix is so much greater and cooler and also he can swing a sword better, and he doesn’t need _ nor _ like Sylvain, anyway!  
  
Whatever!  
  
Felix is most definitely not moping when he stomps his way back to the guest room allocated for him, and Felix is most certainly not on the verge of frustrated tears when he slams the door open, against all the polite etiqutte his father has drilled into his head, time and time again.  
  
Except he stops short.  
  
Because Sylvain is there.  
  
Felix stands still in the doorway, gaping at the sight in front of him. His brain has stalled, his mind a blank. Slowly, everything reboots. Felix stares at Sylvain, the older boy curled up into a ball on Felix’s bed, dozing lightly in an oversized shirt and baggy pants. In this position, and in this location, Sylvain doesn’t look like he’s thirteen years old. The three years between them no longer seem like a yawning cavern and an impossible leap.  
  
Like this, Sylvain seems unbearably, intolerably vulnerable.  
  
Felix decides that he hates it.  
  
So he lurches forward, and proceeds to slam his fists down on Sylvain’s body, just like what he’d done to Glenn’s chest, earlier. Sylvain startles awake with a gasp, flailing and rolling back to escape Felix’s assault.  
  
“Wake up, you jerk!” Felix barks, and hits Sylvain again for good measure. “Stupid!”  
  
“Ow ow owww!” Sylvain whines pathetically, bringing his arms up in a futile attempt to defend himself from Felix. “Argh! Fee-Fee, stop!”  
  
Felix smacks him again.  
  
“Stop calling me Fee-Fee!”  
  
“But Fee-Fee--“  
  
Felix raises his fist, and Sylvain cowers with a yelp.  
  
“Okay, okay!” he capitulates, and Felix lowers his arm, pleased. “You little tyrant, you,” Sylvain grouses.  
  
Felix sniffs, nose in the air as he crosses his arms.  
  
“I already told you to stop calling me that,” he says primly. “I’m _ ten.” _ _  
_  
“Baby,” says Sylvain, and quickly dodges another one of Felix’s fists. “Baby brat. Also, Glenn calls you Fee-Fee! Why can’t _ I _ call you Fee-Fee?”  
  
“Glenn can call me Fee-Fee because he’s Glenn,” Felix rolls his eyes. “Duh. I don’t like it, but he’s Glenn.”  
  
Sylvain scoffs.  
  
“I don’t get what’s so great about Glenn anyway,” he grumbles, tipping his head back and letting himself sink into the mattress. _ Felix’s _ mattress. For the length of his stay, at least, but that’s not the point. “All you and Ingrid and Dimitri ever do is yabber on and on and on about him.”  
  
“Hey! Don’t talk about Glenn like that!” Felix slaps Sylvain on the arm, the older boy a little too slow in rolling away this time. “He’s my brother, you jerk!”  
  
“So?” Sylvain scowls.  
  
“So you’re not allowed to insult him!” Felix scowls back. “He’s _ my _ brother. Only I’m allowed to do that!”  
  
“Ugh, whatever,” Sylvain tosses an arm over his face, and rolls over, his back facing Felix. “Do what you want.”  
  
“Jerk,” Felix grumbles, and clambers onto his bed. Sylvain squawks as the bed dips, and Felix shoves him over to make room. Whatever. It’s Felix’s bed. Sylvain should be the one accomodating him, anyway. “Dad says you’re just mad ‘cause Glenn’s engaged to Ingrid and you’re not.”  
  
“Hah?” Sylvain snorts at that. “Why’d I be mad about that? That’s dumb.”  
  
“He says you’re jealous.”  
  
“Well, I’m not,” says Sylvain with a huff.  
  
“Really?” Felix asks suspiciously.  
  
“Why would I be jealous over that?” Sylvain says. “Ingrid’s a kid. And a nag. And she eats so much that she’s probably going to get fat one day.”  
  
“Hey!” Felix protests, a surge of defensiveness rising up in him. “Ingrid’s not that bad! And she’s the same age as me! ...And there’s nothing wrong with being fat!”  
  
That’s what Glenn had told him, anyway, when Felix had protested his use of the word to describe Felix for the nth time. Or something like that. Which still doesn’t stop Felix from being mildly offended whenever Glenn teases him about ‘losing some weight so poor Estelle has an easier time of it’, but it’s more the tone than anything, really.  
  
Stupid Glenn.  
  
“Well, Father says that the only excuse for a fat woman is if they’re pregnant,” says Sylvain, and Felix grimaces in disgust.  
  
“Gross,” he declares, and proceeds to smack Sylvain once more. “Don’t say that again.”  
  
“Whatever,” Sylvain waves him off. “Anyway, she’s still just some nagging kid. There’s soooo many better women out there. Did you see--“  
  
_ “Gross!” _ Felix shrieks, and grabs his pillow for the express purpose of slamming it into Sylvain’s face. “Shut up! You-- You disgusting _ manslut!” _ _  
_  
Sylvain chokes.  
  
“Hey, where the fu-u _ uuudge,” _ Sylvain is coughing again, for some reason, “did you hear that?”  
  
“There was some woman in town earlier who was calling her ex-boyfriend that, or something. Glenn said it meant a guy who hits on a lot of girls,” Felix crosses his arms. “And you hit on a lot of girls. So you’re a manslut.”  
  
“...Please don’t ever say that word again,” Sylvain begs. _ “Especially _ in front of The Duke. Please.”  
  
“Why?” Felix cocks his head. “Dad just laughed really hard when I asked about it.”  
  
“...You asked him about it?” Sylvain looks ill. “And The Duke _ laughed?” _ _  
_  
“Uh, yes?”  
  
Sylvain opens his mouth as if to say something. Then closes it. Then opens it again.  
  
“Nevermind,” he speaks after a pause, which is incredibly anticlimactic after all that buildup. Felix is disappointed, and decides to show that disappointment by hitting Sylvain again. “Okay! Geez!” Sylvain yells, cradling his arm, a hand rubbing over the place Felix had hit him in several times over by now, “Argh! You really are a tyrant! Stop hitting me so much!”  
  
“Then stop being dumb!”  
  
“I’m not being dumb!”  
  
“Yes you are!”  
  
“What did I even do?” Sylvain wails.  
  
_ “Be dumb,” _ Felix retorts.  
  
The rest of their bickering proceeds in much the same, productive fashion. At some point, a servant pokes their head in while Felix is doing his level best to strangle Sylvain with a bedsheet. Without even batting an eye at the chaos in front of them, they ask Felix if “milord Fraldarius requires anything”.  
  
“Er,” says Felix, momentarily blanking on his social etiquette, as Sylvain struggles and gasps for air beneath him, “...No. ...Thank you for your hospitality.” Is that what he’s supposed to say? For the life of him, Felix cannot remember. “You’re dismissed...?”  
  
The servant bows, and takes their leave. Below, Sylvain starts making piteous whines, and Felix magnanimously grants him mercy. And air.  
  
It all comes to a halt when the dinner bell rings, and Glenn is the one to interrupt them, this time.  
  
“Heya, Fee-Fee,” he says, then casts a glance at Sylvain. “Ah, and you as well, Sylvain.”  
  
“Glenn!” Felix cries out, and quickly sits up. Abruptly released from his chokehold, Sylvain coughs for a bit, before hurriedly gathering himself. He straightens himself out, posture going firm and rigid as he poises himself, befitting the title of the Margrave’s beloved son.  
  
“Glenn,” he greets, far more stiffly than both Felix and Glenn had spoken. He inclines his head in the bare minimum of formality, and when he next opens his mouth to speak, his words come out unfamiliar and strange. “Please accept my apologies for my neglect of receiving House Fraldarius upon arrival. It is, as always, an honor to host.”  
  
“...Ah,” says Glenn. He’s never been very good with formalities, least of all coming from someone like Sylvain, whom Glenn, on all accounts, should be as close to as Sylvain is with Felix. Yet Sylvain never fails to make things overly formal and terribly awkward, and even now, it’s clear that Glenn still doesn’t quite know how to handle it. “...The pleasure is all mine.”  
  
“Okay,” Felix impatiently cuts in, wanting this to just be over and done with. “Stop being boring, and let’s go eat already!”  
  
Glenn laughs. Seated next to him, Sylvain’s gaze bores into Glenn’s free display of emotion, an unreadable expression on his face. Sylvain always gets so _ weird _ whenever Glenn just does normal people things. Weirdo.  
  
“Right, right,” Glenn says, and flaps a flippant hand. “C’mon then, Fee-Fee. First one there gets to ask for seconds,” he calls out over his shoulder, as he starts heading back to the dining hall.  
  
“Wait, what?!” Felix springs to his feet and rushes out the door. At this point, Glenn is already running. “Glenn! _ Slow down, you jerk!” _ _  
_  
“Stop running!” Sylvain complains from behind them, but Felix ignores him. Besides, Sylvain is running too, as Felix can tell from the sound of his stomping footsteps.  
  
Hypocrite.

  
  
  
They aren’t meant to stay in Gautier territory for long. Not that they can, even if they want to. Felix’s uncle is currently managing Fraldarius lands in their place, and not terribly at bad, but it would be remiss to neglect their duty to their people for too many days.  
  
So Felix makes the most of it while he can. Rodrigue and Margrave Gautier hash out whatever it is they have to hash out — Glenn is the heir, not Felix, so he’s the one who has to suffer learning all the complex diplomatic matters that Felix has only the bare minimum grasp on — while Felix and Sylvain mess around, mostly in the gardens, and occasionally try their best to practice swordplay despite them being banned from the training grounds. Occasionally, Glenn joins them, and takes every opportunity to gleefully poke fun at Felix--  
  
(“Stay still Fee-Fee--“  
  
_ “Aaagh! _ Glenn, no, _ no stop don’t bring that anywhere near me--!” _ _  
_  
“Sheesh, it’s just a spider, Fee-Fee. Calm down. It’s not even venomous! ...I think.”  
  
_ “What!? _ Wait, wait, you _ thiii--uuuaaAAAAAHHH! Glenn, get it off get it OFF--” _ _  
_  
“Kidding. It’s perfectly harmless, Fee-Fee, stop screaming. ...Fee, I told you already, it’s fine, so stop screa--“)  
  
\--but oftentimes, Sylvain just clams up around Glenn, and it makes everything really awkward, so Glenn doesn’t swing around often.  
  
“If you’re not jealous,” Felix scowls, after the third time Sylvain manages to indirectly drive Glenn away, “then why do you hate Glenn so much?”  
  
“I’m not-- I don’t hate Glenn,” Sylvain grimaces, determinedly not meeting Felix’s eyes. He stares down at the caterpillar he’s seen fit to poke at with a stick. Felix had been worried at first, not wanting to witness such blatant cruelty--  
  
(“It’s just a caterpillar, Felix.”  
  
“And you’re just a bully! This caterpillar is better than you in every way!”  
  
“...Wow, okay, ouch.”)  
  
\--and then whined about it until Sylvain had finally relented, resorting to simply poking the ground next to the caterpillar. Felix thinks it’s still a bit horrid, watching how Sylvain cheerfully forces the caterpillar to move the way he wants it via threatening stick-poking, but at least he’s not spearing the caterpillar itself. A minor relief, but a relief nonetheless.  
  
“Then why are you treating him so rudely?” Felix frowns, crossing his arms. “Even around Dimitri, you don’t bother with all this trumped up formal stuff. Glenn’s the only one you try to push away like this.”  
  
“Well, Dimitri’s different,” says Sylvain.  
  
“He’s the prince.”  
  
“I’m aware,” Sylvain says dryly. “But, ya’nno. Dimitri and I are tight. I don’t really know Glenn.”  
  
“That’s just ‘cause you keep being mean to him, so he can’t even hang out with you even if he wants to,” Felix rolls his eyes. “You only don’t know Glenn ‘cause you don’t want to.”  
  
“Well,” says Sylvain, then stops.  
  
“Glenn’s a good guy,” Felix continues pestering him, when Sylvain doesn’t seem like he’s ready to elaborate any time soon. “If you’d just--“  
  
“Look, ‘Lix,” Sylvain says, the new nickname he’s come up with slipping easily off his tongue (at least it’s better than Fee-Fee, though that isn’t saying very much), “I’m sure Glenn is super cool, and whatever. I mean, that’s basically what you and Dimitri and Ingrid say all the time. But, I don’t know.”  
  
He shrugs.  
  
There’s something in Sylvain’s expression that makes Felix bite back his next words. It’s... not sad, Felix thinks. Not exactly. And it’s not quite bitter, either. It’s an emotion that Felix can’t quite pinpoint, and that Felix doesn’t know if he wants to pinpoint.  
  
Whatever it is, Felix drops the topic like a rock, and moves on.  
  
And so, they continue in this stalemate. Felix doesn’t try to bring up Glenn in conversation anymore, but he does send implicative looks Sylvain’s way whenever his brother deigns to join them. Sylvain ignores him though, because Sylvain is kinda annoying like that.  
  
Felix is beginning to think it a lost cause, ready to give it all up — just when the second-to-last day of their visit hits, and Sylvain is nowhere to be found.  
  
It’s like the first day all over again. Felix scours the manor, and turns up with no trace the older boy. He even went through the trouble of checking _ all _ the rooms this time. It’s annoying, especially because Felix even went through all the trouble of waking up bright and early just to sneak out two training swords from the grounds. (He’s about ninety percent sure that the groundskeeper saw him, but if he did, then he turned a blind eye to it. And that’s what matters in the end.)  
  
Felix scowls as he ruminates in the garden, hidden behind the foliage from most people’s sights. He can’t exactly spar by himself, can he? Felix supposes he could ask Glenn, but that ran the risk of Glenn ratting him out, depending on his mood. Not to mention that their ‘spars’ always get rowdy after a certain point, and somehow, Felix always ends up in a headlock and yelling as he struggles, so...  
  
Ugh. Well, the point is that Sylvain isn’t here. And, just like the first day, Felix isn’t moping about it.  
  
He isn’t!  
  
Felix petulantly jabs his stolen sword into the dirt. Stupid Sylvain. First Glenn, now Felix. Next thing Felix knows, Sylvain’s going to start isolating himself from the whole world.  
  
Stupid Sylvain.  
  
It’s when Felix finally admits defeat, getting up to go find Glenn because a chance is better than none at all, when he notices a familiar handkerchief snagged in the bushes just bordering the woods right next to the Gautier manor. Felix frowns, and, gripping both swords in his hands, advances slowly over to take a closer look.  
  
It’s a pale yellow, with the initials _ SJG _ stitched onto it in neat, flowing script. Felix’s heart sinks as his suspicions are confirmed.  
  
It’s not the first time Sylvain’s gotten himself into incidents like this. Or, rather, was tricked into incidents like this. Felix remembers all too well being the one to find Sylvain in that frigid well in the middle of winter, pale and frostbitten like a child of snow, and he remembers yelling and crying his lungs out, until Glenn had rushed over to investigate the commotion. And Rodrigue had followed, as did Margrave Gautier himself.  
  
“It was an accident,” Sylvain had repeated, over and over again. “I fell.”  
  
Yet Sylvain had always been the most graceful of their friend group.  
  
Felix had wondered, at the time, and his mind had raced-- but the conclusions he came to were both terribly unbelievable, and unbelievably terrible. So Felix had chosen to stop thinking on it, to close his eyes and shut his ears.  
  
In retrospect, perhaps that had been a mistake.  
  
And now Sylvain’s gone again, and there’s his stupid handkerchief he always carries around with him just left in the bushes, and Felix can feel a sinking stone in his gut, weighing heavier and heavier with every passing moment.  
  
The smartest choice would be to go get Rodrigue and Margrave Gautier. But Felix remembers the look on Sylvain’s face when the Margrave had stood at his bedside, tall and imposing and a man of war rather than a father.  
  
Felix gets the inkling that if he were to get _ them, _ his and Sylvain’s relationship will never be quite the same. And that thought-- that feeling--  
  
Maybe Felix is selfish, but he doesn’t want Sylvain to look at him in the way he looks at Glenn.  
  
Glenn would be Felix’s second choice, because when it comes to situations like these, he knows how to keep his mouth shut. Glenn is a logical person, and Glenn prizes rationality over most other values; but Glenn himself is a fourteen year old, and Glenn just _ gets it. _ _  
_  
But the reason why Felix can’t get Glenn is obvious.  
  
And then...there’s no one else. All that’s left are the servants and knights of Gautier and Fraldarius, and they certainly wouldn’t hesitate to go running to Rodrigue and Margrave Gautier the first second they hear of this.  
  
So Felix makes the executive decision to commit to the dumbest path of action: he troops into the forest alone, a flimsy wooden sword in each hand.  
  
A few minutes in, and he’s starting to regret this decision. Even now, at the tailend of summer (or what constitutes as summer in Faerghus, anyway, which basically just means that you aren’t going to freeze to death if you so much as dip a toe into the pond), the Gautier lands are freezing. And Felix hadn’t dressed in expectation of staying outside for long periods of time.  
  
Leaves crunch beneath his boots, and Felix shivers lightly, arms crossed over his torso and shoulders hunched in. There are fuzzy caterpillars on tree branches, the likes of which Sylvain enjoys tormenting, and there are the definitely-not-venomous spiders (okay, so Glenn had _ said _ they were harmless, but) that Glenn enjoys attempting to put on Felix’s face.  
  
Felix is surrounded by plants he doesn’t recognise and insects he doesn’t know. And Felix is alone, and Sylvain is probably even alone-r, and that’s the worst part of it all, really.  
  
But perhaps the Goddess is watching over them, and perhaps the Goddess takes pity on them; whatever it is, it is a stroke of fortune when in the silence of the forest, Felix manages to catch the sound of a muffled breath. Felix stops, freezing in his tracks.  
  
There. Again. Another sharp intake, a quiet wheeze of an exhale.  
  
Felix quickly treks his way over, following the sound. Twigs snap and crackle beneath his feet — and the forest instantly goes mute. But Felix has already pinpointed the source, his feet spurring him onto the location, and so it is a futile silence, when Felix eventually, finally manages to find Sylvain.  
  
The older boy looks pretty miserable, clutching his ankle (Felix can’t quite make out the details from here, but he can see blue and purple and black), head bowed and avoiding Felix’s eyes.  
  
“Hey,” Sylvain croaks out.  
  
“Sylvain, you idiot!” Felix berates, rushing over to him in a frantic panic. Sylvain laughs, and it sounds all wrong; cracking and choked, as if he’s forcing it out of his lungs.  
  
“Woah, now, who taught you _ that?” _ he quips. “That’s a bad word, ‘Lix. You shouldn’t be saying that.”  
  
“I’ll say it if I want to and if it’s true!” Felix yells. It echoes loudly in the empty forest. Sylvain huffs out another chuckle.  
  
“I’ll have you know,” he says, “that my tutors call me gifted.”  
  
“Shut up,” Felix tells him, furious. _ “Shut up.” _ _  
_  
“Aw, don’t be mad,” says Sylvain, ignoring Felix’s angry demand. “I figured you’d find me sooner or later. ‘S no big deal.”  
  
“It _ is _ a big deal!” Felix snaps, and unthinkingly, he reaches out to snag the collar of Sylvain’s shirt. It jostles Sylvain’s body, and Sylvain lets out a sharp gasp; Felix immediately goes rigid. He drops his hand.  
  
Sylvain is grimacing, and clutching his ankle. Worry and guilt hit Felix like a falling snowdrift, and he bends down to peer at Sylvain’s leg. His fallen hand slowly, gently reaches out to curl loosely around the part of Sylvain’s leg just above the inflamed area.  
  
“What happened?” he demands, but Sylvain just shakes his head.  
  
“I was just being stupid,” he says. “You know how it is.”  
  
“Thought you said your tutors call you gifted?” Felix snipes.  
  
“Well,” Sylvain waves a flippant hand. “You know. Book smarts, street smarts. Not the same thing.”  
  
Felix just snorts.  
  
“Really,” he says, utterly unconvinced. “And stop trying to change the subject! What. Happened.”  
  
“I fell,” lies Sylvain blatantly.  
  
“You fell.”  
  
“I fell.”  
  
Felix narrows his eyes, and resists the urge to stomp his foot in frustration.  
  
“Liar!” he accuses.  
  
“Hey,” protests Sylvain, raising his hands up. “You mean you don’t believe me, ‘Lix?”  
  
“I don’t,” Felix snaps.  
  
“Oh, yeowch. That one hurt,” Sylvain puts a solemn hand on his chest, “right here.”  
  
“Wrong side,” Felix says.  
  
“Oh sh--“ Sylvain fumbles, shifting his hand over. Felix narrows his eyes.  
  
“I was lying,” he informs Sylvain. “You got it right the first time.”  
  
Sylvain’s mouth drops open.  
  
_ “Felix,” _ he says, sounding betrayed.  
  
“Shut up,” Felix says. He stares down at Sylvain’s ankle, and bites his lip. “...Does it hurt a lot?”  
  
There’s no other reason Felix can think of, to make Sylvain so distracted that he doesn’t even notice it when Felix pulls such a stupid trick on him. It’s something Felix would have fallen for when he was younger, and that’s saying something.  
  
Or maybe, Sylvain is thinking about the person who injured him like this. Because there had to have been somebody else.  
  
Sylvain isn’t actually stupid. He doesn’t just randomly go out into forests, and he’s not so clumsy as to fall and twist his leg so badly, it hurts to even look at. If Felix had to wager a guess, it’d be that someone pushed him down. Or he was chasing after someone, and slipped.  
  
Or he was running from someone, and slipped.  
  
Felix doesn’t know the sordid details. And judging by the way that Sylvain keeps avoiding and avoiding the topic, he’s never going to know.  
  
That thought is like a chokehold on Felix’s heart, gripping tight and squeezing, its nails digging into Felix’s flesh. The idea that it’s something so bad Sylvain won’t even tell him — the idea that Felix isn’t actually that important after all, that Sylvain won’t even trust him with this.  
  
“I’ve had worse,” Sylvain answers Felix’s question, in a way that really doesn’t answer anything. Felix glares fiercely, but Sylvain just snorts at the look on his face.  
  
Jerk.  
  
“Whatever,” Felix snaps, and ugh, he can feel the stupid pressure building up in his eyes again. “If-- If you’re just going to keep _ lying _ and not answering my questions properly then I’ll just _ stop asking.” _ _  
_  
Sylvain doesn’t respond to that. He swallows. Felix chomps down on the inside of his cheek, and squeezes his eyes shut. He lets his head fall down, pointedly looking away from Sylvain, and takes a deep, deep breath.  
  
“We need to go back,” he says, and he feels Sylvain tense beneath him.  
  
“No,” Sylvain barely manages to get out, before Felix is rearing back up, eyes blazing.  
  
“What is _ wrong _ with you?” he shouts. “You don’t want to tell me who did this, you didn’t even want me to find you, and now you don’t want to go _ home? _ You’re _ injured, _ stupid! You need to hurry up and see the healers!”  
  
Sylvain’s restraint cracks in half.  
  
“I don’t want to see the stupid healers!” he yells back, and Felix flinches, before he braces himself again and continues glowering at Sylvain.  
  
“Well, why not?!” Felix scowls fiercely. “You don’t wanna get _ healed? _ Idiot!”  
  
“It’s not that!” Sylvain argues. “I just don’t want everyone to make a dumb fuss about it. It’s not a big deal. I was just being dumb-“  
  
“It doesn’t matter how dumb you were being, or whatever you think,” Felix snarls. “What matters is that you’re _ hurt.” _ _  
_  
Sylvain’s fists clench.  
  
“So what,” he grouses. “It’s just a stupid ankle. I’ll be fine.”  
  
“You’re not going to be fine if you just stay out here!”  
  
Sylvain hmphs. He crosses his arms, and looks away.  
  
A beat.  
  
“Sylvain,” says Felix, and his voice has betrayed him now, because it’s gone all pathetic and quiet and quivering. The one good thing about it is that it makes Sylvain bite his lip, a clear look of guilt passing over his face before his expression shutters once again. “Please.”  
  
Sylvain visibly dithers, conflicted. Then he sucks in a breath, and lets out a resigned sigh.  
  
“I still don’t want anyone to find out,” he grumbles, but at least it’s better than his vehement protests just prior. Felix allows himself one moment of bursting pride, before he goes back to the dilemma at hand.  
  
“Oh!” Felix smacks a fist onto his palm as an idea hits him. Sylvain glances up at him curiously. He’s probably not going to like this idea, but Felix, frankly, is past the point of caring. “Glenn knows healing magic!”  
  
Sylvain, predictably, blanches even further.  
  
“Wait,” he hurriedly cuts in, “I just said I don’t want _ anyone _ to know. Come on, ‘Lix.”  
  
“Glenn won’t tell,” Felix says.  
  
“Uh, last I checked, Glenn was counted in _ anyone.” _ _  
_  
“Well, it’s either Glenn, or the whole manor, so pick your poison.”  
  
“Come on,” Sylvain whines, refusing to give in. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, help me sneak into my room, and I’ll just rest ‘til it gets better--“  
  
“You think you’re going to hide _ that?” _ Felix asks scathingly, pointing to the ugly swelling of Sylvain’s ankle.  
  
“Uh... Yeah?” Sylvain tries. Felix glares him down.  
  
“Stupid,” he hisses. “I know you hate Glenn or whatever, but--“  
  
“I don’t,” emphasizes Sylvain, “hate Glenn!”  
  
“Then stop acting like it!” Felix snaps. “I don’t know why you keep being so mean to him, but he’s _ my brother _ so just-“  
  
“Well, maybe it’s _ because _ he’s your brother!” Sylvain suddenly snaps, cutting Felix off. Felix jerks back at the abrupt outburst. “Ever think about _ that, _ huh?!”  
  
Then then Sylvain’s mouth snaps shut, and the boy goes completely white. Felix is frozen stiff, eyes wide and struggling to find a proper response.  
  
But all Felix can think is: _ so I was right, after all. _ _  
_  
So it had been a mistake, then. Blinding himself, and deafening himself, and muting himself. What an idiot Felix is.  
  
After a few, long moments, Felix’s brain starts functioning again. Sylvain is still deathly pale and quiet, staring down at his hands and refusing to meet Felix’s eyes. Felix’s mind whirls and churns, reaching and grasping for something to say.  
  
_ Hey, Sylvain, why were you in my room that first day we got here? _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Hey, Sylvain, why didn’t anyone know where you were? _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Hey, Sylvain, why did I see Miklan before I saw you? _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Hey, Sylvain. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Who were you hiding from? _ _  
_  
But those aren’t the words that end up exiting Felix’s mouth; Felix takes the dive, deep and direct. He gets the feeling that Sylvain will respond to nothing less.  
  
“You know that Glenn isn’t Miklan, right?” asks Felix.  
  
Sylvain sucks in a breath.  
  
Silence blankets them like snow on the ground.  
  
Sylvain is staring mutely at the ground. From Felix’s perspective, his face isn’t visible. And Felix is staring mutely at Sylvain.  
  
_ Say I’m wrong, _ he thinks. _ Say that Miklan and Glenn are the same. Because that means that Miklan isn’t-- that Miklan didn’t-- _ _  
_ _  
_ _ That Miklan is good, like Glenn. _ _  
_  
Sylvain doesn’t say that.  
  
“Yeah,” is his shaky answer, after a too long pause, voice quiet and trembling. “I know, ‘Lix. I’m just being stupid. Like always.”  
  
The worst part, Felix thinks, is that Sylvain sounds completely sincere when he says those words.  
  
And Felix closes his eyes, and clenches his fists, and remembers how Glenn had told him to _ Breathe, Fee, just calm down and don’t let your emotions take control of you-- _ _  
_  
Felix breathes out.  
  
“I’m taking you to Glenn,” he says. Sylvain looks up at him.  
  
“Felix,” he says. His eyes are wide, and his hands are shivering. But Felix knows that Sylvain is well-equipped to handle harsher weathers than this; that Sylvain is a child of Gautier, and he’s survived the winter and a well.  
  
So Felix repeats himself.  
  
“I’m taking you to Glenn,” he says. “You can trust him. And if you can’t do that, then just trust me.”  
  
Sylvain is silent, for a moment, for two. He’s staring at Felix, still.  
  
“...Okay,” he says, defeat in his voice and surrender in the way his body slumps. “Okay.”  
  
Felix is small, and he almost stumbles when Sylvain leans his weight on him. Sylvain mutters out an apology and starts to draw away, but Felix determinedly grabs his wrist, and pulls him back.  
  
“Shut up,” he tells Sylvain. “I said I’ll take you, so I’ll take you. Don’t be stupid.”  
  
Sylvain laughs at that, a shocked, involuntary noise.  
  
“Okay,” he repeats, again. Then, “Take me home, ‘Lix.”

  
  
  
On the walk back, Felix thinks and thinks. If he were Sylvain, he wonders, and if he’d grown up without, and away from Glenn--  
  
Felix thinks he gets it; what Sylvain is thinking. This irrevocably different worldview despite the similarities of their conclusions.  
  
_ Maybe, _ Felix muses, _ it’s not that Miklan isn’t good like Glenn. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Maybe it’s the other way around. _

_  
_  
  
When Glenn sees and hears about what has happened to Sylvain, his lips go tight and pursed. But, just like Felix predicted, he doesn’t go careening off to the nearest adult to tattle on the both of them.  
  
He drags them to the nearest unoccupied room, sits Sylvain down on a chair--  
  
(“You realise that _ I’m _ the host, correct?” Sylvain had said, jutting his chin out in open defiance, and ditching all the polite formalities he usually conforms to around Glenn.  
  
“Yeah,” Glenn had retorted flatly, “and you’re the one who got injured and came crying to me, so sit _ down.” _ _  
_  
Sylvain sat down.)  
  
\--and proceeds to kneel on the ground, gently prodding and poking at Sylvain’s ankle. Sylvain winces and hisses, but doesn’t fight it as Glenn closes a gentle hand around Sylvain’s leg, and shuts his eyes. A look of concentration takes over Glenn’s expression, as he draws on his magic reserves.  
  
Glenn’s never been especially talented in the arts. But he knows enough to be able to treat this much, at least.  
  
A look of relief crosses Sylvain’s face, as the swelling visibly recedes. Glenn takes a roll of bandages from his first-aid pack that he keeps on him at all times (Felix had thought it needless paranoia before, but now he can’t help but be grateful for Glenn’s foresight) and wraps it around Sylvain’s leg.  
  
“It’s better now,” he instructs softly, but no less firmly, “but make sure not to put too much pressure on it.”  
  
Sylvain swallows. And then he nods.  
  
“See?” Felix tells Sylvain when Glenn’s all done, rising back up onto his feet. He crosses his arms. “Told you we could trust Glenn.”  
  
“...Yeah,” Sylvain says, voice low. His gaze flicks to Glenn, and Glenn looks back. They stare at each other for a long beat, expressions unreadable.  
  
Felix scowls. He gets the feeling that they’re having some kind of silent conversation that he’s not privy to, which is annoying because _ hello, _ Felix is right here! But he doesn’t speak up, choosing instead to draw his gaze to some nebulous point in the wall behind them, giving them some semblance of privacy as this... interaction? non-interaction? plays out in front of him.  
  
Sylvain is the one to break eye contact. He glances away, and down to the ground.  
  
“...Thanks,” he says softly. Almost imperceptibly, he hunches in on himself, shoulders drawing up.  
  
Glenn hesitates for a moment, before slowly, unsurely bringing a hand up. Felix watches, wide-eyed, as Glenn’s hand lands on the top of Sylvain’s head. Sylvain freezes, his body going completely stiff with shock.  
  
“...Next time,” Glenn says, into the silence of the room. “Just come to me if there’s any trouble.”  
  
Sylvain ducks his head at that, his hair flopping over and covering his expression. But in the split second before Felix loses sight of Sylvain’s face, he thinks he might have spotted a tiny, pleased smile.

**Author's Note:**

> and then glenn dies teehee
> 
> [hmu on twitter @areseliph!](https://mobile.twitter.com/areseliph)


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